


Know the Right Moment

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Post War, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-12
Updated: 2007-12-12
Packaged: 2018-10-27 10:16:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10807080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: A coincidental fortune cookie gives Hermione the determination she needs and a nudge in the right direction. Ron will definitely be glad they ordered Chinese.





	Know the Right Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Inspired by a fortune cookie fortune sent to me in a Christmas card by the wonderful eimajunknown. I collect fortunes and so does she, and I'll bet Ron and Hermione have collected at least two as well. :)  


* * *

It was early December, and a cold rain splashed against the windows of a small flat on a quiet side street in London. In the kitchen of said flat, Hermione Granger stood unpacking a plastic bag of Chinese takeaway, opening each box to make sure it held the dish she’d ordered. Her fingers fumbled slightly with the boxes, betraying her nervousness, and she mumbled a mild curse under her breath when she knocked over a box of steamed dumplings. 

At the same time, she heard the familiar crack of Apparition in the hallway and smiled to herself. Moments later, keys jangled and the lock clicked. She knew he was coming and could easily have left the door unlocked, but she also knew that owning a set of keys to her flat gave him a great sense of pride, and she was more than willing to indulge him in the matter.

“You in the kitchen, Hermione?” she heard him call.

“Yep…go wash up, dinner’s nearly ready.”

She cringed when she realized she sounded like his mother. Would nerves make her a fool all evening? She sincerely hoped she could stop her hands from trembling before he came into the kitchen, or she’d have to come up with an excuse, and she wasn’t sure she could. Her mind was a jumbled mess tonight, filled with thoughts and fears and jitters, all on the same topic. She sighed and steadied herself, reaching up to the cupboard above to take down two plates for dinner.

Before she could close the cabinet door, a freckled hand took them from her, setting them on the counter in front of her. She felt him close at her back as his arms circled her waist, and she wrapped her arms around his and allowed herself to melt into him.

“How was your day, love?” he asked, his chin resting on her head. She could feel him speak, and however innocent his question was, it sent shivers down her spine.

“It was fine,” she responded. “How about yours? Anything special going on at the shop?”

“Nah. It was pretty busy, though, with Christmas coming and all. Got a big order for pink pygmy puffs…party favors for some witch’s sixteenth birthday this weekend.” He laughed wryly. “Packing pygmy puffs all day isn’t much to brag about, is it?”

She turned around in his arms and looked up at him, her expression a strange mix of stern and tender.

“Ron, you know as well as I do that George needs you. Working at the shop doesn’t have to be your dream job, but you’re doing a wonderful thing, helping him.” She smiled. “You could be an official Nosebleed Nougat tester, and I’d still be proud of you. Mildly disgusted, mind you, but proud nonetheless.”

They laughed together, and he hugged her tight before kissing her on the forehead.

“You know you’re amazing, right?”

Instead of responding, she stretched up to kiss his lips. One hand moved up his arm and around his neck, finding a place in his soft red hair, while the other stayed around his back, pulling him close to her.

A few moments later, she heard and felt his stomach rumble between them, and they both smiled.

“Leave it to that bottomless pit to ruin the moment, huh?” Hermione laughed as she gave him one more quick kiss, then pulled away and turned around to focus once more on dinner. He reached for a plate, stacking four boxes on it, and walked to the table. She followed, carrying two glasses of water.

“This Muggle takeaway stuff is great!” Ron exclaimed with his mouth full, after a few minutes of companionable silence, the rain on the windows and the scrape of knives and forks against plates the only sounds in the room.

A “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Ronald!” admonition had entered her mind, but she remembered her earlier lapse into sounding like his mother, and stopped herself from saying anything. Besides, she was quite used to this by now.

She smiled at him instead. “Yes…they really do a good chicken with broccoli, don’t they?”

“Mhmm,” he responded, chewing contentedly.

She stopped eating, her hand still holding her fork, and watched him for a moment. She found herself taken back through all the years of sitting across the Gryffindor table from him at mealtime. Brandishing sausages on his fork while he spoke animatedly, taking fourteen strips of bacon at breakfast, spilling his pumpkin juice all over the table when he flailed his arms during a heated row at lunchtime, eating third and fourth helpings of treacle tart... She felt a heaviness of emotion settle in her chest and wondered how an intelligent woman like herself could find such things so incredibly endearing.

The words were out before her mind processed them, and she was surprised when emotion caught them in her throat halfway through the sentence. “Do you know…how much I love you, Ron?”

He put his knife and fork down and met her gaze. “Yeah, I do,” he said quietly. He smiled. “I wonder why, sometimes, but I figure it’s not my place to ask questions.”

He leaned across the table and kissed her, and she was struck with the thought that perhaps she shouldn’t have ordered the garlic prawns, but he didn’t seem to mind. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the moment.

**********

After the dishes were cleared from the table and the leftover food was safely in the fridge, Hermione peered into the takeaway bag and reached in to get the two fortune cookies at the bottom before stuffing it into a ball and throwing it in the bin. 

Ron was leaning with his back against the counter when she handed him the little cookie, wrapped in plastic. He took it and stared at it for a moment.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, bewildered.

She laughed as she tore the wrapper on her own fortune cookie. “You eat it, silly - it’s a fortune cookie…a completely American invention, not even Chinese at all. Some Chinese restaurants in England don’t even give them to you with your meal, but this takeaway does, and I’m glad. I think they’re fun!”

He gave her an if-you-say-so look and unwrapped his cookie. He watched as she broke hers in half, revealing the tiny strip of paper inside, and he was suddenly thankful that he hadn’t just popped it in his mouth whole, as he had intended.

He copied her actions, and ate the half that didn’t contain any paper, hoping there wasn’t anything else inedible inside. It was crunchy and faintly lemony and quite tasty. He pulled the fortune out and laid it on the counter, crunching loudly on the second half that had been unceremoniously stuffed in his mouth.

It took him a moment to notice that Hermione wasn’t eating; in fact, she wasn’t moving at all. Her eyes were focused singularly on the strip of paper held between her thumb and forefinger, and he thought he noticed it shaking ever so slightly.

“Hermione?”

She laid the fortune on the counter and looked up at him. Her eyes held an emotion he couldn’t quite name. She asked, “What does yours say, Ron?” 

He reached one arm behind him to feel for the tiny piece of paper on the counter. Squinting at the miniscule print, he read aloud, “Flattery will go far tonight.” The last word came out on a laugh, and Hermione couldn’t help but join in as his continued laughter rang out through the little kitchen.

“Ah, yes, but the writer of this thing never met my girlfriend,” he said, still shaking with a few final chuckles. He looked at Hermione and added, “Flattery wouldn’t get me anywhere with you. And besides, I’d be rubbish at it.” Remembering her reaction to reading her fortune moments ago, it was with a tentative voice that he asked, “What did yours say, anyway?”

She gazed at the slip of paper and said, “Know the right moment.” Hermione lifted her eyes to Ron’s, and she smiled a half-smile. “It made me think of kissing you in the Room of Requirement. I’m not sure that was really the right moment, but it sure seemed like it at the time. I know I don’t regret it, no matter what.”

“Well, yeah…I don’t, either. It was brilliant.” He returned her smile and opened his arms in invitation.

She laid the uneaten half of her cookie on the counter and crossed to where he stood. He couldn’t help but notice that the undefined _something_ was back in her eyes, this time accompanied by a look of determination, as though she was steeling herself for something to come.

“Lately, I’ve been thinking about…well, some things,” Hermione said, still smiling. Her gaze was steady as she went on. “Big things, big steps…and I had no idea I’d get that fortune…the coincidence actually stunned me for a moment there, but…I think _this_ is the right moment. I know it is.”

Ron’s face wore a confused expression. “The right moment for what, love?” 

He wasn’t catching on, but she hadn’t exactly expected him to. She decided to show him what she meant, what she’d been thinking about all week, why she’d worn lacy knickers and taken a potion - the reason she’d been faintly nervous all afternoon and evening.

Before he knew it, she was pressed against his chest, her hands roaming across the bare skin of his back (he vaguely wondered just how she got inside his shirt so fast), and she was kissing him as she never had before. He always thought her kisses were heavenly, but this was laced with something completely different and new.

Now he was catching on, as this was one of his favorite activities. His hands found her hips, and he smoothed his thumbs over the thin strip of skin between her shirt and jeans, inching slowly upwards as she deepened their kiss. Her hands traveled down his back to slide under the waistband of his jeans, pulling him away from the counter so she could move her hands lower and cup his bum.

In that instant, her last words echoed in his head, and in a moment of clarity, he realized what she meant. Startled, he broke away from their kiss and stared into her eyes, where he saw the same look he’d seen earlier. This time he understood - perhaps it was the position of her hands, or maybe it was because he was fairly certain his fingers had just touched lace, the sensation thrilling and different from the soft cotton he was so used to brushing his hands across. At any rate, he could define it now, and it struck him like lightning - that look was her wordless invitation, meant to convey that yes, this _was_ the right moment, the right time.

Gripped for a few fleeting seconds with a sudden sense of sheer terror at the thought of fumbling through it all like an obvious first-timer, he allowed himself to realize that it would not only be _his_ first time, and that, if anything, they’d fumble through it together.

Her hands hadn’t moved - and he was certainly conscious of that - but he hugged her tight and rested his head on top of hers. “Do you know how much I love you, Hermione?” he murmured into her hair, echoing her earlier question.

She smiled and spoke into his chest, breathing in his scent. “Yes, Ron, I do. But I’d love to hear more in a few minutes.” She let out a soft giggle. “You could try out some of that flattery, too…see how far it gets you.”

As he laughed, she reluctantly freed her hands and stretched to place another kiss on his lips. The determined look was back in her gaze.

“Meet me in five minutes. I think you know where I’ll be.”

Before he knew it, she had turned and walked from the room, but not before he saw her long hair tumble down from its messy bun. Still quite dumbstruck at the turn of events, he peered around the corner into the living room and felt his heart skip a beat when he spied her shirt on the floor, discarded on her way to the bedroom. Breathing shallow, nervous breaths, he leaned back against the counter again. Without thinking, he reached for the other half of Hermione’s fortune cookie and tossed it in his mouth. As he chewed idly, his eyes fell upon the fortune on the counter. 

He picked it up and stared at the words: “Know the right moment.” Suddenly, a memory flashed in his mind of a bushy-haired know-it-all girl sliding open the door to the compartment he and Harry had shared on the train so many years ago. A thousand other shared memories bunched up in the space between, but his second thought was of that brilliant moment in May - it seemed like yesterday, really - when they’d shared a kiss made truly fantastic by all the years they’d waited. The timing of the moment hadn’t been ideal, to be honest, but the moment itself had definitely been _right_.

Ron was conscious of the rain against the windows as he placed the fortune back on the counter and took a long drink of water from his glass. Attempting to think up a few flattering comments, he discovered that all the superlatives he thought of were things he truly believed, but he decided he’d try saying them anyway. Finally, he took a deep breath and pushed himself away from the counter.

Yes, he thought, this was the right moment. Hermione knew it, and he wasn’t about to argue with a witch that clever - not about _this_ , at least.

He wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans and started toward her bedroom.


End file.
